Constellations
by Delillium
Summary: An unravelling Draco starts to question himself when he begins to hear a voice and forgotten memories resurface. Family secrets are revealed, enemies are re-evaluated, insanity is on the brink and the pressure could crush him at any moment. When you can't trust anyone on your side, who can you trust? With a Dark Mark comes great responsibility.
1. PROLOGUE

**Constellations**

* * *

PROLOGUE

* * *

Pink clouds came out from behind a distant mountain, just a ray of light could escape behind the obstacle and the thin grey curtain made the streaming light a hazy splotch on the floor, barely noticeable to the wandering and unfocused eye.

There was a degree of silence in the room that made Draco feel uncomfortable yet at an odd state of peace. Like something was going to break the few moments of serenity he clung to. He had this nagging feeling that Goyle would start laughing loudly about a comment Crabbe made or begin picking on the Gryffindors and cause a scene and there went his few single moments of concentration.

They were supposed to be reading their textbooks and beginning a paper on Potion Stability, Chapter 3.

Draco found the light through the window far too distracting.

Usually, this wasn't him, usually, he was flipping through pages with a bored look on his face, but now, every time he so much as attempted to read a sentence, the words became jumbled and confusing as though they were another language. So he put his head in his hand and stared with a determined brow and slanted eyes at the rising sun, it's light obstructed by the immobile mountain just beyond.

It transfixed him in an indescribable way, like he was looking at something profoundly miraculous.

Maybe he was losing it.

Maybe it wasn't just the sleepless nights.

Maybe it was all just finally getting to him.

Snape stopped by his desk, staring down at him for a fraction of a second to observe his condition and then continued on despite the blankness of his page.

Draco came up with another _'maybe' _explanation: Maybe he was concerned.

But that was a laugh.

Like the other maybes.

He just needed sleep.

* * *

Draco, at dinner time, turned to his dorm room instead of the Great Hall. The thought of food repulsed him at this point and decided that sleep would refresh his brain which had been working in mysterious ways all day. Like a sense of de ja vu, he kept trying to grasp the thoughts that continuously escaped him.

A nightmare that escaped him when he opened his eyes. Like a thinning cloud, he tried to grasp it but all he got was moist air. He batted his eyes, maybe trying to trap the memories, the dream rested somewhere in his mind and was just letting it float away.

The clock on the wall said it was five, and though the dorm was beginning to stir, no one was awake just yet. He stepped out of his bed quietly, keeping his balance by holding onto the posts of his bed and grabbed his uniform from a trunk beneath, feeling over the initials etched in the metal. _D.M_

A poignant pain shot through his head, knocking him backwards onto his back as it left the after-burn effect on his arm and that same burn coursing through his veins.

_'Draco?...' _A voice, like a whisper, traveled through his ears.

He shook from the ferocity of the pain in his head. Blinding and tight, his head felt like it was stuffed with tacks and needles.

"Draco?" A voice asked dumbly in the dark, slow and with a drowsy delirium slurring his words. "What're you doin' on the floor?"

Draco didn't respond, if he opened his mouth there'd be nothing but screams.

Just before closing his eyes, he wondered if perhaps, this was the way Potter's scar burned on his forehead everytime Volde-..._The Dark Lord_... was around.

"Need me to send Goyle out to get someone? I'm too tired mysel-"

"No you dolt." Draco replied through gritted teeth as the pain retreated like a cowering animal, burrowing down inside of him somewhere unseen. "I'm fine."

With no further questioning and thrilled over the news he wouldn't have to exert any energy to even produce a command to Goyle, Crabbe turned over, giving his back to Draco, "Alright."

Draco felt the lonely darkness for another moment.

Crabbe didn't seem too concerned.

Why should he?

Nothing was wrong with him.

* * *

Something ate at him like a disease. He couldn't leisurely stare at a rising sun that day in Potions. He couldn't watch the way a wind could blow a cloud in forty-five minutes during Charms either. Nor could he even crack the smallest smirk about Ron Weasley's blunderous escapades during Defense Against the Dark Arts. Despite the knowledge that his mistakes were somewhat humorous, the humor didn't reach his brain evidently because there was an obvious mishap in his serotonin levels.

The voice in his head, whispering his name in that childish whisper. Innocence had never fallen on his ears in such an even-tempered tone, so mild and soft.

And the worst part was that it seemed somehow familiar, as though he'd heard this voice before.

But how? The voice was a childs and he'd grown up without even a friend or playmate until Hogwarts.

Unless of course, he simply imagined this voice.

Maybe it was his own voice, maybe it was Crabbe's. They'd both just gotten up. The voice simply could've sounded distorted in his ears and child-like, or maybe Crabbe's voice was unnaturally high pitched when he woke early in the morning. It wasn't necessarily proved false so he held back the urge to shake his head.

Or maybe it was Pansy's voice coming through airducts- that was certainly a thought. And a much more believable one at that. Though it may be arrogant, Draco was well aware of Pansy's opinion on him- and it displeased him.

Not that it wasn't flattering that she found him desirable, but that was just it. He was desirable because of his status, his wealth, maybe even his looks though Draco had never really thought much about that, he figured he was average in looks, maybe even slightly above, but didn't tend to give it much thought due to the fact that beside Crabbe and Goyle he was certainly standing high. However, Pansy didn't even know if he had a middle name. She thought of two things when it came to men. Her potential power upon marriage and sex.

Draco happened to be the most accessible man to her that fit the qualifications.

That's all.

He was just the boy that fit the rubric.

So her dreaming of him, saying his name sensually in her sleep, wouldn't of been all too surprising albeit slightly disturbing.

Draco personally didn't find Pansy the most attractive female he'd laid eyes on and not entirely because of her physical appearance. Her personality was very off-putting. She was a groveler and therefore nothing much more than Crabbe or Goyle. She changed her opinion like a leaf in the wind, going whichever way the breeze said. In this metaphor, Draco was the breeze.

It was as though she had no mind of her own.

In his youth, Draco thought of this as his perfect woman. A woman who had mild looks but a mind to mold and bend at his will. But he was beginning to feel a change. Somewhere deep inside of him, he was beginning to almost be repulsed by the thought of someone with no opinion, no values, no beliefs at all.

Whatever worth his opinion held, this theory made sense and he debunked the nighttime voices at nothing more than a travelling voice coming through vents or cracks in the walls.

Of course it was.

Nothing more than an overworked brain reading too much into noises in the night.

* * *

Draco walked on sluggishly, pulling his robe around him better to protect his skin from the icy sheets of rain that slipped through the branches. Usually the rain had no effect on him having been raised in a place where the sun rarely shined, however, his arm was beginning to sting again and the added iciness did little to help.

It smelled like soil which was common after a fresh rain in the forest, but here was a place, he knew, where there'd be no distractions, no noise. Maybe he was becoming somewhat estranged during the course of his insomnia, if sleeping in the forbidden forest just to have some damn silence wasn't crazy, then he wasn't sure what was. Though aware of this concrete fact, it phased him little.

They'd probably wonder where he was?

No, they wouldn't.

Laying his robes down onto the damp floor just beneath an abundantly leafy tree, hoping it would provide cover. He collapsed onto the robe within second, eyes already drooping at the thought of some sleep that night. The very thought of an active brain sent him into a hopeful euphoric state of sleep.

* * *

**I understand this prologue may be confusing and it has a weird format, but the next chapter will be set up in a normal format and will establish the plot of this story better. **

**If you can give it one more chapter, I'd like to try and not disappoint you. **


	2. Black Wrinkled Rocks

**Constellations**

* * *

1

* * *

Water surrounded him, and something like a shadow stretched across his vision and moved from above the surface. A black object, moved with fluid movements like a rolling wave that refused to be so unceremonious as to crash against a shore. He went to reach for the surface and touch the object-like humanoid figure above, that in his mind, was a source of energy and happiness. It was as though a dementor had come and taken his soul and this object, whatever it was above this suffocating killer he was surrounded by, was his only remedy- his only hope.

The humanoid plunged an arm down into the depths, forcing his arm down, and with another arm held his chest to the bottom.

He thrashed against the resistance, pushing and pulling. He wished he was like a lizard and could simply lose an arm or leg like it could a tail to escape his certain death. He blinked against the exhaustion and out of panic, viewed his watery grave around himself.

His only free hand clutched around the wrist of the soon-to-be murderer, and for a moment, just a moment, the pressure released against his chest. He didn't even try to escape, his eyelids were heavy and his lungs were burning. The grip became even stronger, the pressure became so intense it forced every molecule of air from him as he made an attempt to gasp.

Dark tinged his peripheral vision and he was suddenly weightless in the dark blue.

Draco snapped his eyes open in this moment, sitting up, and saw that what surrounded him was no longer water, but trees and a lit sky.

It took a moment to register against the ragged breaths he was attempting to control and the memories he was trying to hold onto, but eventually he came to realize that he'd been asleep. It was another nightmare.

But he'd slept through the night.

Then why did he feel so exhausted still?

Like every ounce of his energy was just drained from his body?

It wasn't the good sort of exhaustion, like that of after a good quiditch match when he used to play so often, but it was the exhaustion of a defeating, embarrassing, duel with some dimwit.

Like he'd been ripped and strewn about then hastily re-assembled again, an inferior version of himself was created and he had the sensation he'd never be the same.

A sense of urgency rushed through him, coursing through his heart as he looked out into the distance at the castle.

It was past eight, so not only was he going to miss his first class and possibly his second, but he felt no better having slept in the forest and actually felt as though he'd gone off the deep end.

A Malfoy didn't sleep in the woods, certainly not on the floor in the rain. Or at least, that's what his father would've said.

If his father ever found out. Which he wouldn't.

Looking down on his small plot of land, he grabbed his robe, pulling it on and brushed off a few stray leaves as he hurriedly began his descent out of the damp woods and into the foggy plain.

He was at a jog when a voice caught him off guard.

"Malfoy?"

For a split second, fear surged through him at the thought it might be the voice again, but this voice was huskier. Almost burly. The fear slipped away as he figured it couldn't of been anyone with much control over him as he didn't instantly recognize it.

Then in the woods, he saw the slightest movement among the brown tree trunks and spotted the giant man who blended into the forest scenery. He moved forward, "Draco, what're...er...What I mean is, what business do you got out here in school hours? You weren't cuttin' class were ya'?"

"Mind your own business, giant." Draco's usual threat of the fury of his father was weak at best and Hagrid gave the slightest quirk of an eyebrow at it.

Draco's complexion was paler than usual and his eyes were sunken in, and Hagrid for just a moment, saw the slightest flicker of fear spread across his face as he looked into his eyes. Usually, Draco Malfoy looking you in the eyes established his aristocracy and his aggressive intentions, it showed he was dominant and undoubtedly your boss. Now it showed weakness and pain.

"What're ya' going 't get me fired for? Enforcin' school rules?" Hagrid asked calmly with a slight chuckle, "No, now, c'mon. Lets get you back to school there, Draco."

Draco was silent, turning around wordlessly and begun his trek to the school, Hagrid falling into his pace quickly and with his large stride, it was just moments until he was right beside him.

"What's your first class?'

"Potions." Draco replied in an acidic tone, snapping the answer out as fast as possible.

"Mm..er...What were you doing in the forest?" Hagrid asked suddenly in an attempt to find the reasoning as normally as possible, though he had a feeling Draco wasn't about to tell him. He'd try the easy way first.

"Like I said before, it's none of your concern. I'm not looking for a conversation with you."

"I'm not particularly happy with your company either, Mr. Malfoy. I'm giving you the option to tell me. Way I see it, you could tell me and I could give Professor Snape a legitimate excuse for you. _Or._ I hand you into Dumbledore and tell him you were wanderin' 'round aimlessly in the forest when I spotted ya'. Looking real suspicious."

"Are you...You're blackmailing me, are you?" Draco looked up to him suddenly out of the corner of his eye in semi-shock but with a cocked smile that showed his vulnerable and ensured defeat, a sarcastic smile that said, _'you got me.' _

"I'm giving you two options." Hagrid replied calmly, a placid smile still on his face as he looked distantly at the castle before them.

"I thought I'd sleep better. Are you happy now you miserable oaf?"

"You were in the forest all night?" Hagrid asked incredulously. "You? Must've been an act of God savin' your hide! Don't ever do that again. You could've died."

"It'd make your life a lot easier if I had." Draco replied darkly, misery laced every word.

Hagrid, in perspective, thought over the words carefully and for just a moment, considered the source. A seventeen year old boy, this miserable, this dark, this twisted.

It brought a weight on Hagrid's heart and almost felt guilty for forcing an explanation out of him.

But then again.

"All that to sleep better, eh? Could'a asked for somethin' to knock you out."

"Would'a got out you know. Malfoy can't sleep and he's begging for drugs...My father hears about everything. Even what I _don't _want him to hear about."

"Something was troublin' your mind no doubt then, hm? Trouble was _gettin' _to sleep or _stayin' _asleep?"

Draco was quiet for just a moment, "Staying asleep."

How could he know he was telling the truth?

* * *

Snape snarled at the intrusion at his door, thunderous footsteps echoed off the walls and the class turned to face the half-giant, putting a halt to whatever lesson plan Snape had planned for the day.

There beside him, more rugged than he'd ever looked a day in his life at Hogwarts, was Draco Malfoy with a distinctly empty expression.

"Er, sorry about this Professor Snape, I got Malfoy here useful 'round the forest for a couple hours and must've lost track of time."

"What was he doing by the forest in the first place?" Snape furthered in a critically biting tone, watching Draco's expression morph into a glare at the ground as he stepped from around Hagrid towards his seat.

"Oh, no no no. I saw him on my way back in the courtyard. Thought I'd ask for some help with a few things considerin' he didn't seem busy."

Snape swallowed his pride, looking to Draco with sharp eyes, "Thank you, _Professor _Hagrid for bringing him back."

Hagrid tipped his head and gave a flat smile, with one last look at Draco, he turned back around and with one large step was out the door, closing it softly behind himself.

Draco glared at his paper as though it were his enemy.

"Draco."

Draco looked up to respond to the name, found Snape looking at him severely, and just as he begun to open his mouth, he realized the voice was much too soft to belong to Snape.

He looked around himself, looked back to Snape whose glare was faltering into something akin to confusion, though he couldn't say, he'd never seen Snape confused.

Nobody had said anything.

Nobody.

He re-focused his attention back onto the piece of parchment in front of him which had been set onto his desk before he'd entered the room apparently- Snape must've set it onto his desk at the beginning of class.

He grabbed the quill in hand and distractedly attempted to write something down.

Instead of an essay however, his hand wrote a list.

_**-Burning arm**_

_**-Nightmares**_

_**-Voices**_

He scratched the last one.

**_-One voice_**

Class finished with unanimous disinterest in Potions but with a growing curiosity in the case of Draco Malfoy, or at least, Harry Potter and his small group of immediate friends which consisted of two were interested. They couldn't exactly speak for everyone but the wonder of Draco's sour face, Snape's demanding questions and Hagrid's enlistment in Draco Malfoy of all people brought questions to their minds that left Potions on the back burner.

What piqued their interest was the stiff demand when class was dismissed by Snape, "_Not_. _You_. _Malfoy_." His name was drawn out like venom.

As the room emptied, unwillingly by Harry who wanted to accidentally overhear a word or two, Snape snaked his way across the room with a short but speedy stride.

"What were you doing?"

"Hagrid's told you."

"It's. A. _Lie_." He replied in a cold calmness that overflowed Draco's senses, numbing him of the desire to continue lying.

"What's it matter?"

Snape fell silent, his eyes became iced over.

"You're father was here."

Draco's blood ran cold.

"My-...My father? Where's he now?"

"I imagine, Mr. Malfoy,...you'll find out."

Snape looked into his eyes and then behind him, staring off behind him. Draco followed his gaze over his shoulder and turned around to see him there, at the door, with an angry inflection in his eyes.

"Draco." He whispered sharply, his eyes had an edge to them with their red rims and black bags, his hair being the only neat thing about him. His voice was hoarse, like he'd drank too much wine.

Draco swallowed.

"Yes, sir. I'm sorry I missed you earlier, I was with-"

"I don't care where you _were_ in _honesty_. I don't even care if you've taken a liking to those _giant-creature-half-breeds _but your time is _precious_. Your task isn't difficult...but I'm seeing no results. Draco, this isn't going to be..._a problem_." Lucius made his way down the stairs with a staggering swagger, relying heavily on his cane.

"No. No, sir."

"Draco. Draco, listen to me."

Draco looked to his father, dead in his bloodshot eyes as Lucius closed the gap between them and continued in a hushed whisper, deep and groggy. His breath against his hair, his face so close it made Draco close his eyes and his hands shake in immediate response.

A sickly feeling rose in his stomach and headache begun to bloom beneath the stress.

"This is something you have to do. Understand me? This isn't a choice. This is something...something..."

"I know. I..." Draco fell silent, "..I can do it. I was _chosen _for this. Me." Draco replied, half attempting to ease his father's shaking and his escalating anxiety and half attempting to convince himself that he could perform the task handed to him.

"I know you can." Lucius' face become a few shades lighter, "That's right. You have to do it. You were chosen, yes?"

"Yes."

Lucius put a shaky hand on Draco's shoulder and trembled quietly, "If you fail...If you fail, Draco, your mother and I-" Lucius broke short.

"I know."

There was uneasy silence as Lucius broke the contact, looked up and gave an uneasy nod at Snape who returned the gesture with a simple bow of his head.

"The Dark Lord is becoming increasingly impatient..he wants it done by the end of the month."

Draco swallowed, feeling the world begin to fall around him.

Could he do it? Could he take the life of another? Could he steal their soul like a dementor? Could he become a murderer of an innocent man? Blood that could never be washed away.

Could he do it?

He felt a tight restricting in his chest and nodded,

"Yes, Father."

* * *

Draco was swimming, free to breathe above water, but surrounded by darkness. For miles, a brown sky with grey smoke encompassed the entire Earth around him. In the middle, here he was, gasping for air as he broke the surface of the black-ink water.

A voice called to him.

"Draco."

He turned in the direction of the innocent voice, the soft tenderness of a child's voice.

"Remember me...Follow my voice."

"Who are you?"

"Follow my voice. Remember me."

He dove one arm upwards, slicing back into the water like razor blades cutting the surface as continued to paddle in the direction he estimated to be near the origin of the voice.

"Follow my voice, Draco. Follow it."

"I don't understand, I..."

Draco swam faster, but felt as though he were in the same place, stuck against some force field, blinded of the truth that was evident somewhere among the nonsense.

"Follow my voice. Follow. Just follow my-"

Something warm wrapped itself around him.

When he looked down in sudden panic, he saw a face. Purple, small and bloated. The face of a baby.

Draco's eyes snapped open, his chest heaving as his heart beat against his ribs in painful rhythmic stabs. Shakily and with the dexterity of a blind man, he removed the blanket in a whipping motion, stood, and attempted to balance himself against the bunk.

He choked on his breath and felt the world spinning around him, a weakness in his bones and cold racked through him. The burning across his forearm matched the burning across his forehead.

In a feeble attempt, he pushed himself from the bed, moving towards the common room and then hopefully, he could make it to the bathroom.

Dressed in a thick grey sweater and some warm pajama bottoms, he tested the air for it's temperature but releasing some hot breath in the atmosphere. When he didn't see his breath, he knew was something wrong. Wracked with shivering as horrible as his father's an intense icy feeling in his veins, he was beginning to feel very faint.

He entered the common room to be given the obvious empty room and begun to cross it as quickly as his shaky legs would allow. He took each step carefully and felt his blooming headache worsen at the cold tiles touch against his feet, like a lightning bolt of electricity surging up his spine.

He made his way down the hall by putting all his weight on the wall, avoiding knocking over picture or stirring the portraits from their slumber as best as possible. But at this point, he wanted to fall across the floor, puke where he landed, and curl into himself.

He made it into the bathroom, and rushed to the stalls, leaning over a toilet bowl and emptying whatever contents may have been left over from his small dinner he was barely able to eat.

Wiping his mouth, he flushed the toilet and made it out of the stall.

He was about to run a bath, but he found his joints locking, his bones felt like they were made of noodles, and he was exhausted. He fought off the darkness for another moment, feeling himself about to collapse, and then finally, he couldn't.

Undignified, he fell across the bathroom floor in a semi-fetal position, convulsing.

The last thing he remembered was how cold, in a thick woolen sweater, he was.

* * *

Draco shook again, in a cold sweat, swallowed and said a few mumbled words beneath his breath.

"You..._found_ him like this, Argus?" McGonagall whispered.

"Bathroom floor. Wretched mess to be cleanin'..." Filch replied crossly with a glare towards the fitful sleeper, "...all over the place it was..."

"_Thank you, _Mr. Filch." Dumbledore replied, giving a stern look in his direction but it contrasted deeply with his kind and good-natured eyes, "That'll do."

Filch gave him brief eye contact before turning his attention towards the doorway, it was early yet and he had work set out for him that day, he didn't have much time to waste grumbling over the mess he'd had to clean before arriving at the infirmary to give his inquiry.

He walked across the empty room, exiting, and as he did beneath McGonagall's even-eyed stare, she felt comfortable enough to speak to Dumbledore in the room with the privacy she'd needed.

"Well..." McGonagall said carefully, "...we should certainly question those boys, what were their names?...Vincent Crabbe and the other...Gregory Goyle. See if they'd noticed anything. Certainly they must've noticed _something. _A boy of seventeen doesn't reach his near deathbed over night."

Dumbledore looked on at the boy, fever just beginning to break as sweated puddle beneath him and absorbed into the thick white comforter pulled on top of him.

"We could look, you know. Confirm it." McGonagall said this lowly, giving him a sideways glance.

"We can't blame a boy for the sins of his father. If Draco has followed in the footsteps of Lucius, I could guarantee it's not out of his free will."

"He's a spoiled child..." McGonagall replied triumphantly, as though no power could strike her down, "...but not an evil one." She was resolved in her tone, as though she knew her weekend plans were not going to work with her schedule.

She gave a sigh, "I'm not sure what there is to do about this. A seventeen year old boy recruited to work for..." She was silent, blinking momentarily, "He's desperate. Absolutely desperate."

"No. There's simply no moral code to a man like Voldemort. He's not desperate. He's hungry for scared children, minds to mold and brainwash, and Lucius is eager to please him. Not out of a specific loyalty to him, but out of fear. Fear is our best motivator through our lives, and if we learn to tame it, we learn to take control of ourselves and sometimes, others. Lucius has let fear rule him all his life. A trait that attributes to vulnerability in a man."

McGonagall put a hand to blanket, placing a hand against Draco's forehead.

"He's burning up." McGonagall whispered, "Never in a million years, Mr. Malfoy, would I've expected this." She looked to Dumbledore, "He couldn't possibly want this. He...He couldn't possibly _choose _at this age."

"He has the means to choose. At the moment, fear is his motivator. When he finds a new motivation that's stronger than fear, he'll make his true decision."

She pulled at the blanket, pealing them from his fire-like skin. He breathed out uncomfortably, brow knitted in pain.

McGonagall took his left arm in her hands carefully and gently pulled his sleeve to his elbow. Just as she was about to expose the Dark Mark, Dumbledore gave a scolding look.

"Put the blanket back."

"Alb-"

"Draco will make his own decision. Whether he's a Death Eater or not makes no difference. He'll only do..." Dumbledore trailed off and stumbled for just a moment, showing an uncharacteristic amount of modesty, "Have you ever known Draco Malfoy to do anything he _didn't _want to do? Eventually, he'll find his way."

McGonagall gave a weary smile, placing the arm back onto the bed, covering it with the comforter again. In a way, she had to believe in him when he'd proved his wisdom time over and over again. It was a hesitant defeat, but she gave into him.

"I suppose not. We should place some form of trust in him."

A resounding echo suddenly clamored, interrupting McGonagall last few words. They looked simultaneously at the door to see a slightly disheveled Snape slow to a jog at the entrance to the little medical wing. His hair was ruffled and his expression taut with some form of guilt or regret. But guilt over a student's injuries, unrelated to him in anyway, wasn't usually the way Snape's conscience ran itself.

"What happened?" He asked brusquely, speed walking to Draco's side but at the same time showing little emotion, "His father has asked that I see to him."

It seemed to be a matter purely constructed of good business, though Snape was known for his unstricken features even in the most dire of times.

"He was found early this morning in the Slytherin lavatories." McGonagall replied stiffly, "Just as he is."

Snape gave a look towards Dumbledore as though to question if this information were true and when he gave nothing more than an even-tempered look, Snape turned back to scanning Draco's body, swallowed by blankets.

"We should do our best to let this not become another rumor, they can be stretched to ridiculous proportions. Only say what's necessary." Dumbledore said suddenly after a moments thought.

"They deserve to know that their classmate was near his death." McGonagall replied with an incredulous expression on her face, "We can't say he's got the common cold, now can we?"

"As I said before, Minerva, only say what you feel necessary."

* * *

He was diving deep into the depths of it's cold embrace, encased in the nurturing mother that cradled him but at the same time; his killer who pushed him further and further into bleak nothingness.

Just as he felt his breath was gone and lost in the floating tormented bubbles, attempting to break the surface like him, he found his breath suddenly rejuvenated and his lungs filled with air. He breathed in air, below the frosty waters.

Diving down, further, past wrinkled black rocks, angry from years of pressure, and deep into the lush green waves of grass moving rhythmically, past all this, he could hear a single voice calling his name like an enchanting beckon.

"Draco..." It called again, "Draco..."

"Who're you? Calling my name?" The name came out in a bubbly rasp, audible, but distorted, like a clam cracking open it's crusted lips, gulping in the water and releasing it's breath as payment.

"Mum called me Aires. You were Draco."

"Aires...? Are you the one who keeps calling me?"

"Yes. Sorry if I've annoyed you. It's the first time you've been able to hear me, you know." Like a wave, the voice echoed against the water and travelled to his ear in echoed purity.

"What do you need me for?"

"You need _me_."

"Me? I need someone I've never even heard of until today. Whys that?"

"You have to remember me, Draco."

"I never _knew_ you-...Where are you anyway?" He looked for a source to the voice, fragile and petty.

"You're very weak, Draco. You should rest."

"No, wait. Who _are _you? You-..." Draco recognized the sensation of fault bubbling within himself and the tired feeling of defeat, "...you do sound familiar. I'll give you that."

"Mum called me Aires."

"_Your_ Mum?"

"Our Mum."

"_Our...__Our? _I...That would mean...But I don't have any_ siblings_." He said it with spite and malice out of anxiety and fear, a family secret would surely create a divide in a time that he didn't need it to.

"No." The young voice returned his anxious worry with tortured grief, "Not anymore."

"But then when? When did I-...But I _never-_..."

"You have to remember. Remember me, Draco."

A sudden force brought him rising from the bottomless depths into the supreme light of daybreak and into the sun where the light of hope could beam on him- but it didn't. He could've absorbed the rays of promising days but he deflected them with a racing heart and shaking hands, his mind raking through every moment of his life.

_'Not anymore'_

* * *

**Hello everyone!**

**Thanks so much for giving this crazy story a chance. I hope you'll stick around to the end! Reviews are WELL appreciated! They let me know if you are either,**

**A) Enjoying this story!**

**B) Annoyed because it could use some work**

**Let me know, please, if you're barely getting through it or if you'd really like to see an update. I love reviews, they tell me someone wants me to actually keep going, or they can be helpful critiques. **

**So think about that if you want fast updates. Reviews honestly motivate me to get it up faster. I'm not saying that the more reviews I get the faster it gets posted, but a review or two puts me in a good mood! Good mood= writing. Writing= more updates. **

**Simple math, right? ;D**

**Thanks again if you've read through all 4,385 words of it! **

**Seriously though, you don't even have to sign in! I take anonymous reviews, and if you're in a hurry, tap A for a like. Tap B for a dislike. **

**Updates on the way,**

**-Del**


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